


who would you live for? who would you die for?

by babykanima



Series: ride [5]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 08:49:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4013344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babykanima/pseuds/babykanima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are not going to die here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	who would you live for? who would you die for?

**Author's Note:**

> this is the final chapter! and the most interesting to write tbh because i loved splendid.
> 
>  
> 
> come and [ visit me ](http://lynchcycle.tumblr.com/)

You are _not_ going to die here.  
  
You never met your mother, you think she was probably just one of the women who are constantly pregnant to supply mother’s milk like they’ve got no better purpose, but Miss Giddy who looked after you said she had named you _Angharad_. She tells you it means 'much loved' as you are surely that.  
  
You're not a future war lord so your father has no interest in you until he realises you've got all your limbs and can learn things easily enough and may just be beautiful one day if only you could grow into your lips and legs. Those are the things that apparently make good breeding stock because he marries you when you're nine, doesn't care that you're partly from him and you _hate_ him, your father/husband.  
  
He names you Splendid the first time he fucks you (“You splendid fucking _cunt_.” He wheezes down at you) and after that nobody cares that for nine years your name had been something else and you had been much loved. Immortan Joe's word is law and you _do_ learn things quickly because you realise almost straight away that love and possession are two separate things.  
  
You don't get to keep your clothes or your body hair or the ability to touch yourself (the belt chafes and grows cold against you and you hate it as much as you hate anything) but you wish you could keep your name, if nothing else.  
  
You repeat it over and over in your mind as Joe's hips bump into yours, as the force of his thrusts moves the bed you're lying on into the wall.  
  
Thump-thump-thump.  
  
Ang-ha-rad, Ang-ha-rad, Ang-ha-rad.  
  
Once, you were much loved.  
  
Now you belong to this room.  
  
(but secretly, when you're all alone with a metal door between you and the rest of the world, you promise you're not going to die here.)

* * *

Capable arrives when you’re seventeen and you’re not sure how to deal, at first.

It’s always been just you or just you and Miss Giddy or just you and the War Boys who are still young enough that they haven’t had their mouth ripped yet and having somebody else in your space-behind-the-wall is strange.

She cries a lot, Capable. Loud, sobbing breaths and you feel bad for her because you know what’s coming. “You’re okay.” You lie, “Nobody is ever going to hit you again.”

Her hair is different to yours and you were kind of enchanted by it; yours was light and so was Miss Giddy’s and Joe’s and the red of it always catches your eye before any of the rest of her does. You don’t have red in your rooms. You have white and sand and metal but not _red_.

You think this could be what the sun looks like.

You think maybe one day you’re gonna see it, just to compare.

* * *

You get used very quickly to being the one to protect the others.

It starts with Capable and it doesn’t ever really stop after that because these girls, your fellow wives, your fellow slaves, your _sisters_. . . they all seem so much more breakable than you and when you pull your husband from their reach your mind is filled with things like _better you than them._

Dag finds Joe contemptuous; she’s always spitting insults down on his name as soon as he closes the door behind him or pulling faces behind his back and tugging fruitlessly at her belt as though her force of will would be enough to grant her her freedom.

Cheedo is terrified of him, she starts shaking when the sound of the door opening reaches you all or when you can all hear his boots against the metal tunnel leading inside. It starts in her hands and soon her entire body is vibrating with the force of her fear and you always find yourself reaching to her or stepping in front of her and sometimes, sometimes you find Dag next to you doing the same. She loves Cheedo the most, you think.

Toast is an explosion around your husband. You think maybe it was because she’s got a little of the Bullet Farm still left in her after all this time because the only other person who speaks to him like that, according to Joe, was the Bullet Farmer himself. You soothe him after he’s left her and each day he swears up and down he’s gonna give her to the War Boys and each night you make him swear not to.

She hates you for it, you think. She doesn’t understand why you’re doing it. Or maybe she does and just doesn’t care. She never tells you to stop though, is the thing. None of them do because they love you, they _do_ , but well. Better you than them.

* * *

You cut your face because you can. It’s as simple as that.

It’s _your_ face, _your_ blade, _your_ hands and Joe can’t stop you even though he tries.

You found out you were pregnant the night before and wish this room had stairs you could throw yourself down to get rid of it because you _hate_ it. You hate everything about it. You’re gonna have this baby only to have it ripped from your arms like you were ripped from your mother’s arms and any name you give it will be forgotten in the face of whatever your husband decrees its name to be.

You don’t know whether you wish for a boy or a girl but knowing what he does to his daughters you hope the baby isn’t like you. Capable cleans up your vomit and wipes away the blood on your face from where you’ve been slicing it carefully since you figured it out and then she pushes your hair from your face like you did to her all those years ago, “Shhh.” She soothes, taking the blade from your hand. “It’s okay.” You know she’s lying but you want to believe her so badly.

Hours later, Joe walks in and spots your still-bleeding face and for some reason rage takes over like it never has before. He grabs you by the arms and _shakes_.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it, you filthy _slinger_!” Screeches Dag as Toast holds her back from lunging toward you.

“ _Please_.” Cheedo sobs, her hands covering her ears.

“She’s pregnant!” Screams Capable and everything stops.

He looks down to where your arms have curled protectively around your stomach and then up at you, “Is it true?”

You breathe heavily and keep your mouth shut, “ _Is it true?!”_

You look away and it’s Capable who speaks again, “Yes, yes it’s true. Joe, please. You’ll hurt the baby.”

You squeeze your eyes shut tightly and Joe all but flings you away from himself, “That’s my property.” He tells you, pointing to your stomach. “If you hurt my property, I’ll fucking kill you.”

He leaves and you fall to the ground, staring unblinking at the wall where you’ve hidden your blade. Over ten years and he’s never found it. You could pull it out right now and slice open your wrists, just bleed out. Nobody could stop you.

You think of your death and don’t cry.

Arms wrap around you, long spindly arms belonging to three different women you call your sisters and still you don’t cry. “I thought he was going to kill you.” Cheedo whispers into the silence.

“I’d kill _him_.” Dag says.

Toast bumps her head against yours, “I’d help.”

You look away from your hiding spot and think, _no._

_I’m not gonna die here._

* * *

It starts on a day like any other.

You’re all curled up on Cheedo’s bed because she hasn’t left it since Joe made her a woman and you’re watching Dag run her fingers through the young girls hair while Capable watches longingly when the idea suddenly springs to your mind.

It’s Cheedo’s fault really because you’d sat outside her room while Joe fucked her and heard him grunting and wheezing and his “you’re a pretty thing.” And the thought had been in your head ever since.

You were born in this place, has spent barely three days outside of this room in your entire life and it was so long ago you couldn’t even talk or walk at the time. You husband was your father and you were his breeding stock. The baby you carried inside you, the one so small it barely made a bump on your stomach, was going to grow up and do great and terrible things in the name of war and you. . .

You didn’t want your baby to be a future war lord.

You didn’t want to be property anymore.

You don’t want to die here.

You open your mouth and then close it. You know the words, but you’re scared.

You’ve been scared forever, it feels like.

Scared and angry and helpless but.

None of that makes you any less of a person.

You are not a _thing_.

Cheedo is not a thing.

Dag is not a thing.

Capable is not a thing.

Toast is not a thing.

“We are not things.” You say.

Your heart is beating so loudly you feel like it’s going to burst straight through your chest from the force of it. “We are _not_ things.”

Capable looks at you with a frown of confusion and you shrug, “I just wanted to know how it felt to say it out loud.”

You smile, “It felt good.” _Really_ good.

That’s how it starts.

* * *

This is how your mind gets made up:

Toast slaps you.

You’re fighting over something stupid because it’s her time of the month and you’ve gone crazy from the baby and you’re both shouting while Capable tries to step between you both and Dag grins all cat-like and mean when suddenly Toast reaches past Capable and smacks you right across the face.

It opens one of the cuts.

Her eyes are wide and no longer angry and you reach a shaky hand to cover your throbbing face.

“Oh god.” She whispers, “I-I didn’t mean to.”

Cheedo and Dag are standing close, “You fucking hit her, you idiot!” Dag whisper-yells, wide eyes looking around as though Joe is gonna pop out any second.

Capable moves your hand away gently to inspect your face, “We need to put a bandage on it. And a cool compress.” She turns to get both and without her acting as a barrier between you two it’s obvious how little space there is between you. Toast backs away from you quickly, “Splendid,” She says, “I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to.”

Your face burns but you’re used to that and so you shake your head a little, “It’s okay.” You promise.

And it is. You’ve done worse to yourself many times.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

That night Joe spots your bleeding face and glares, taking a step towards you.

“I fell.” You tell him, holding your hands in front of you, “I promise.”

“You fucking—“

“I _fell_.” You tell him.

His eyes slide from yours to Cheedo’s and you feel the hot lick of anger in your belly, “Hey!” You place his hand on your belly and he looks down at it, “I _fell_.” You insist.

“And the baby?”

“He still kicks.” You smile tightly. “Keeps me up at night with the force of it."

He looks mollified, “My little war lord.”

You nod, smiling sweetly even as you swallow down the vomit the wants to surge up and out of you, “Yes. He’s going to be so strong.”

You look over Joe’s shoulder at Toast who’s curled into a tight little ball that is more Dag’s style. She’s watching you with wide, sad eyes and you nod at her.

You won’t tell him.

He’d kill her.

She’s not going to die here, you think.

* * *

"Call me Angharad," You tell them the day after Miss Giddy organises for you to meet with Imperator Furiosa. You don't know why you say it and the others look surprised but you need some bravery right now, and your name makes you brave.  
  
"Why?" Dag looks quizzically up at you from her spot on the floor. Her legs are long and skinny and flat against the wall and you wonder how she's comfortable at all sitting like that for hours.  
  
"It's my name." You shrug, "Before Joe called me Splendid."  
  
She stares at you with wide, unblinking eyes before suddenly smirking, "I don't want to call you anything that old _smeg_ named you anyhow."   
  
Cheerio smiles at you, "It's such a pretty name."  
  
Toast leans her chin in her hand and smirks at you and for the first time in months (since the hormones from the baby began to outweigh your forced calm in the face of her anger) you think she’s happy to look at you, "It's better than Splendid, that's for sure."   
  
You smile tentatively, a truce?  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Ang-har-ad." Capable sounds out carefully, "What does it mean?"  
  
You smile softly, running a hand over your swelling stomach. "It means my mother loved me."

* * *

You hang on the side of an ex-blood bag's ride and you think to yourself: I'm not going to die here

 


End file.
